Текст книги "Very Much Alive"

Автор книги: Dana Bell

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Very Much Alive
 True Destiny – 1
by
Dana Marie Bell

Dedication

To Mom and Dad, who aren't going to get copies of this. They aren't old enough to read it yet.

To Memom, who willget a copy, and knowing her, will sneak it to my mother when I'm not looking.

To Anne Cain, who, quite frankly, rocks the covers! (Book covers, you pervs! Sheesh. What the heck would I know about what she does in the privacy of her boudoir?) And to Dusty, who was man enough to sniffle when Christian Slater whispered, “Stay,” and was so touched by the movie that we had Sterling roses in our wedding. Love you, sweetheart.

Prologue

Long ago...

Baldur looked down at the broken, bleeding body of the man who'd sacrificed himself so that Baldur could live.

Baldur had been furious when Loki ambushed him, binding him and silencing him with a damned Jotun spell. He'd watched, furious, as the fiery-haired man took on Baldur's face and form and strode into the Thing, the sacred space of the gods. He hadn't realized that Loki had been intent on savinghim.

"Leave, I beg of you, before Odin returns."

The urgency in Loki's voice and face was nearly drowned out by the pain. The Trickster God coughed, bright red blood spattering onto his already soaked clothing.

Without his help, Loki would die of his wounds, so numerous and grievous that, if he hadn't been who he was, he would have died long before. The sluggish bleeding of the wound in his chest indicated that the other god's extraordinary healing powers were working, but slowly. Oh, so slowly.

The sacrifice Loki had made was something no one, least of all Baldur, would have ever expected a man like him to make. All the disdain, the annoyance at Loki's flippancy, the anger at his seeming betrayals, evaporated under the truth of a sacrifice so great it didn't bear thinking on.

So Baldur did the only thing he could think to do: offer comfort to one who'd sacrificed more than anyone before. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to those bruised, bleeding lips, his allegiance solidly and forever given to the man who, days before, he would have sneered at. His heart cracked and bled as even that small gesture caused the man beneath him to hiss in pain. “Have no fear. I will take care of you.

Rest now; you are safe.” Thunder sounded in the distance as he blanketed the man with his own cloak.

Shivering slightly in the wet spring air, he turned away from Loki. “I will go and inform your daughter of what has happened here. I will return as soon as I can."

He ignored the moaning protest of the man beneath the cloak, knowing that he was doing the right thing.

With a quick backwards glance he left the hiding place Loki had created for him. The pit of his stomach told him that the choice he was making might not be the best one, but what other choice was there? He couldn't allow Loki to die!

He strode through the Thing, desperate to save the one man he'd never thought he would bother to.

Loki closed his eyes wearily as Baldur left. He lifted one hand to touch his lips, still reeling from the freely given gesture. He'd seen the look on Baldur's face and knew the grief and rage of betrayal ate at him. The fact that he'd taken the time to comfort a dying man, a man feared, loathed, and reviled throughout the world, touched him as few things could these days.

He'd also seen Baldur's determination to return to him, but he knew Baldur couldn't be found here. With a groaning sigh he lifted himself, dragging himself away before the other man returned.

It was better this way. When the Aesir and Vanir found him, inflicted on him the punishment he was sure was going to come, he didn't want Baldur to see it. He knew better than to hope the other man would come to his rescue, or try to convince the others to let him go. It never worked that way for him, and it never would, no matter how his heart ached. His own actions had seen to it, helped along by Baldur's betrayer.

He staggered out into the night, the cloak wrapped around his body, the scent of the other man soothing to him. He ignored the longing in his heart for what could never be, and braced himself for what was to come.

And in the dark of the night a secret watcher raced to correct an injustice so horrendous the heavens would one day shatter from it, knowing that it was already too late...

Chapter One

Present Day...

Kiran smiled as the soft sound of a footfall behind him alerted him to Logan's presence. After all these years together he still found himself bracing for the sight of his lover's wickedly dark face. In his mind's eye, he could see the sardonic grin that would be gracing those full lips, the amusement gleaming in those dark eyes. The setting sun would light fire to that dark hair, making Kiran's fingers itch to run through it just to feel its hidden heat. Other than the fact that he was male, and a sarcastic son of a bitch at that, he was everything Kiran had once dreamed of.

But even the thought of his lover couldn't shake the anxiety that seemed to be dogging his footsteps today. Time had taught him to trust his instincts, and his instincts were screaming at him time to go!

A pointed chin rested on his shoulder and strong, tanned hands went around his waist. “How did I know I'd find you out here?” Kir grinned, leaning into his lover's touch. “Can't you get enough of the ocean?"

Kir gave in to temptation and reached up, fingering the dark strands that flew in the tradewinds to mingle with his, fire to his ice. “You know how much I love the ocean, Logan."

Logan snorted. “You love everything."

"Some things more than others."

He shivered hard when Logan pressed a soft kiss to the side of his neck. He felt his cock twitch in interest. If Logan was in the mood to play, he'd be more than happy to accommodate him. Afterthey left.

"It's time."

The smile left his face, his hands dropping from Logan's hair to tangle with the hands at his waist. He blew out a breath, anxiety over the plan Logan had come up with churning in his gut. He didn't know why, but he had the feeling something big was going to happen, something that would change both their lives. Maybe this time we'll get the son of a bitch. Maybe that's what's churning in my gut today.

Still ...“Are you sureabout this?"

"Positive. This time I think we can beat him."

Kiran nodded, knowing that when Logan got that tone in his voice it was almost impossible to talk him out of whatever it was he had his mind set to. Better to just go along and guard his stubborn ass whether he liked it or not. But he had a very bad feeling about the whole thing, and it was making him nervous, tangling with the anxiety to movebeating beneath his skin. “We need to take every precaution."

"Yup."

"Dot our i's. Cross our t's."

"Of course."

"Leave no stone unturned."

"Kir?"

"Pursue every lead."

"Kir!"

"Yes?"

He felt Logan's sigh against his hair. “We have an appointment we don't want to miss, remember? Or should we just chuck it all and you can go work for Hallmark?"

He waited until he heard Logan growl.

"Hey, I'm thinking about it.” When Logan chuckled he was absurdly pleased.

He yelped when Logan smacked him on the ass. “Let's go, princess, or we'll be late."

Kir rubbed his ass and turned with a frown. Logan's laughing face zoomed in close as his lover planted a quick kiss on his lips.

"Last night you were on the bottom. Doesn't that make youthe princess?"

Logan looked over his shoulder at Kir as he led the way back to their beachfront house. “Hell, no, blondie. You're way too pretty to be anything but the princess. Besides, you're the one the evil queenwants dead, remember?"

Kir snickered at the thought of the dour Oliver Grimm as a “queen". He'd pay big bucks to see Daddy Dearest in drag. “What does that make you? My loyal woodsman?"

Logan turned with a groan, walking backwards towards the house. “That one was bad, Kir. Just damn awful.” He turned, reached for the front doorknob, and inserted the key into the lock.

Kir was never quite sure afterwards what alerted him, but he grabbed Logan in his arms and turned him just as the house exploded around them in a huge ball of fire. They were tossed into the air like rag-dolls, burning bits and pieces of their beach hideaway raining down on them as they landed.

"God damn it, Kir! Don't dothat!” Logan struggled out of his arms and to his feet. He glared at him, his face smudged with dirt and smoke, bits and pieces of their house sticking to his burnt clothes. A cut on his cheek healed as Kir watched. “You could have been killed! How do you know he didn't have the place littered with mistletoe toothpicks?"

Kir got to his feet with a sigh. “You're welcome."

Logan's eyes narrowed, flames dancing in their depths, letting him know just how much he'd managed to piss him off. “Don't put yourself between me and anything, Kir. We're too close to winning to die now."

"Logan."

"Fire can't hurt me, damn it!"

Kir picked up the six-foot piece of wood that had bounced off his broad back. “But this would have."

Logan's eyes widened. “Fuck. Yeah, okay, that would have pinched a bit."

"We need to get out of here.” Always trust your instincts. Damn it, Iknew something was off today!

Kiran looked around, knowing that their car was probably totaled along with all the rest of the possessions they'd had in their home.

"Done.” Logan shifted, changing into a sleek black Corvette, a trick he'd learned from visiting a pooka several years ago.

Kiran smiled as he climbed into the “car". “Damn. I like your style."

Another one of Logan's amused snorts sounded from the speakers. “I know.” He roared off into the night, eager to put distance between them and any of Grimm's nearby assassins.

If Val Grimm wanted them dead, he'd had plenty of opportunities to kill them while they chatted on the beach. What the hell is he up to, and why didn't he just take us out?But he knew the answer to that already. Centuries’ worth of fighting with the Grimms had given it to him.

Old man Grimm wanted them dead. Val wanted to play with them first.

Logan drove like a bat out of hell towards the water, letting Kir know he was still pissed at him. But Logan had given up way too much for him already. There was no way Kir would allow him to give up his life, as well.

If that meant Kir's death, then so be it. After all, as far as most of the world was concerned, he was already dead.

Logan was supremely pissed. A fucking island in the middle of fucking nowhere, and Grimm had stillmanaged to find them and plant that damn bomb. He was so sick and tired of running and hiding that there were times he just wanted to give up, to let Grimm have him and to hell with what would happen next.

But that would mean giving up the one thing that brought his life any joy: Kiran. Old Grimm would kill Kir without a second's hesitation. He'd already proven what he was willing to do to them, child and adopted brother notwithstanding.

He made it to the edge of the water before shifting, at speed, into a small boat, carrying Kir far away from the beings who sought their deaths. He would die a thousand times over to prevent Grimm from laying one finger on Kir's pale blond hair. He would tie himself to the earth once again before he saw Kir's eyes closed in death. He would gladly suffer the acidic poison constantly dripping, driving him insane, before he would allow Kir to suffer a moment's more pain than he already had.

He would have done the same for his children if Grimm hadn't murdered them. As it was he dared not approach his living children for fear of bringing Grimm's wrath down on their heads even more.

Mentally he tried to shake off the rage still consuming him, but it wasn't easy. Kir's hand caressing the steering wheel helped. His lover knew him so well, knowing instinctively what to do to ease him.

All of it, the deaths of Kir's wife, Logan's children, the failure of his marriage and his status as a fugitive could all be laid at one manipulative bastard's door: Oliver Grimm.

And this time, the son of a bitch was going to pay for what he'd done.

Val Grimm walked into his father's high rise office with no expression on his face. He knew better than to show his father any sign of weakness. “They're in the city, sir."

Oliver Grimm looked at his youngest child out of chilly blue eyes. “I want them dead this time. No mistakes, Val."

"Yes, sir.” Val took a breath, not happy to deliver the next bit of news to his father. “I believe they intend to contact—"

"I don't give a fuck who they contact. Get them out of my hair once and for all, understand?"

Val nodded his acquiescence, ignoring the unspoken threat. When his father got that dead tone in his voice, he knew better than to argue. Grimm had no further desire to hear anything from his failure of a youngest son until the deed had been done. He left, brows furrowed, the pounding headache lurking behind his eyes telling him exactly how shitty this day was going to be. But at least all of the players were in place, finally.

Maneuvering things so that all of them were together at the same time in the same city was a bitch and a half. Half the time they weren't paying attention, and the other half? They were off chasing their dicks. But now, all but one player was on the field, and he would be arriving soon, home from, of all things, vacation.

He shut the door to his corner office and sat in his leather chair with a sigh. He stared at the twenty or so emails waiting for his attention and grimaced. He clicked open the first one and dealt with the routine security problem someone else should have handled beforeit got to him.

He lifted his mug to his lips, frowning as the lukewarm coffee slipped down his throat.

Yup. Shitty day, all right. Sometimes living mortal is a real pain in the ass.

Grimm watched as his youngest child left his office.

What a disappointment he's turned out to be.

He'd given the boy a simple enough task. Kill Baldur and Loki. It shouldn't have taken centuries, but somehow time had slipped away from them, and the two banes of his existence were still running around attempting to wreak havoc.

Baldur required nothing more than to be pierced through the heart with something crafted of mistletoe.

Loki, admittedly, was more difficult, with his ability to heal much faster than expected, his shapeshifting abilities, and most of all, his daughter, Hel.

But you'd think, after a millennium, Vali would have gotten it right. The boy's penchant for toying with his intended victims was becoming more and more of a liability.

Grimm sighed and stroked the stone heads of the paired ravens sitting on his desk. Now that all of the players were in place, it was possible he would be able to take both his prodigal son and bastard blood brother out in one fell swoop, ending forever their threat to his rule of the Aesir.

All it would take would be a judicious use of his special weapon, a little trickery, and a lot of fast-talking.

All of which he had in spades. He smiled grimly at the cases of weapons lining one wall of his office, part of his “collection” of antiquities. He got up, opened the case closest to the desk, and pulled out the long spear. It was perfectly preserved, the shaft solid and warm in his grasp, the head sharp and deadly. With a simple thought the spear lit up, flaring brightly.

After all, he was still Odin.

Chapter Two

Jordan Grey rolled her eyes at the passionate clinch the two people on the screen were in. Her secretary, on the other hand, sighed blissfully.

"I have waited so long for you, my darling."

"And I you, my sweet."

"If not for your husband we would be man and wife now."

"I know, Vincente, I know!"

"Oh, Gloria!"

"Oh, Vincente!"

"Oh my stomach.” The snort of laughter from the red-haired man sitting on the couch was nearly drowned out by Jamie's outraged squawk. Jordan put her hands on her hips. “Didn't I tell you no more dubbed foreign soaps in the office?"

"It's a classic!” Jamie spun around in her chair and glared at her boss.

Jordan stared at the overly mustached, mullet-haired “hero". He had the blonde, overly hair-sprayed heroine in a clinch that could only be deemed terrifying. It looked like they were licking each other's tongues. “It's nauseating."

"It's sweet."

"No. Roses are sweet. Chocolate is sweet. This is...” She squinted, staring in horrified disbelief at the office screen. “Are those gold lamé briefs?” She shook her head. “That man is wearing gold lamé briefs!"

Jamie spun around in her chair so fast Jordan's head spun. “Really?"

"Ew. You know he's old enough to be your father, right?"

"Not in this he's not. In this, Vincente is hot.” Jamie fanned her face, her expression wicked.

"Jamie. Gold lamé briefs are. Not. Hot. Ever."

"Speak for yourself."

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “For the love of God, make it go away."

"Actually, I think Vincente is pretty hot, too."

Jordan glared at Jeff, who ducked behind the book he'd been reading. “And everyone knows what great taste in men youhave.” She turned back to Jamie. “Turn it off.” She sighed when Jamie, with a pout, complied. “That's better."

"God, you are such a bitch.” Jeff laughed, peeking over the book he'd been reading.

She smirked at him. “Takes a bitch to know a bitch, bitch."

"Aw, c'mon, Jordan! The love scene was coming up. Pleeease?"

Jamie had her hands clasped in front of her, her very finest imitation of innocence plastered all over her face. Jordan looked at Jamie over the top of pretend glasses, deepening her voice to match that of her stepfather, and the twins’ father, Fred Grimm. “It is undignified for a grown woman to beg."

"Like Dad doesn't make your mom beg everynight.” Jeff smirked at Jordan's look of horror.

" Ew!” Her brother and sister laughed as she stuck her fingers in her ears, scrunched her eyes shut and started yelling, “Lalalalalala,” at the top of her lungs. She'd never do something like that with clients in the office, but it was lunchtime, so she knew the place was empty. Besides, who else could she cut loose with but the Wonder Twins?

Jordan opened her eyes, ready to laugh, startled when she saw Jamie shaking her head. She stopped mid-"la". Jeff's mouth was hanging open in horrified amusement.

Oh, no. Clients. I look like an idiot in front of clients. Crap. Travis is gonna kill me.

Jordan turned and saw the two most gorgeous men she'd ever seen in her life standing in her doorway.

I look like an idiot in front of hot clients. Double-crap.

The dark-haired one was obviously laughing at her. The wickedest smile she'd ever seen rested on a pair of full, sensual lips. Dark eyes danced as she slowly removed her fingers from her ears. He had a small gold nose ring marring an otherwise perfect nose. He was a full head taller than her in her heeled boots, and half a head taller than his companion, with broad shoulders encased in black leather. Ripped, dark blue jeans encased muscular legs, leading down to a pair of black sneakers. Rich, dark red hair tumbled around his head, making him look like he'd just crawled out of bed.

Bad boy alert.

Jordan was a sucker for bad boys. She could feel the saliva pooling in her mouth as her gaze traveled back up his legs, pausing at the impressive package outlined by his jeans, to that wide chest and back to his face. She felt her cheeks heat as he stared back with a hot, knowing look.

Embarrassed to be caught staring like a lusty teenager, she turned her direction to his companion.

Oh. My. God.

The blond next to him was ... was ... words failed her at the other vision of ultimate hotness standing before her. Long, pale blond hair cascaded down to just brush his shoulders. Blue eyes the color of forget-me-nots were wide open as he obviously fought off a laugh. His upper lip formed a perfect cupid's bow, something that should have looked feminine. On him, it just made her want to lick to see if he tasted as good as he looked. His full lower lip trembled with his efforts not to laugh. He was broad shouldered and muscular under his black suede coat. He, too, wore blue jeans and black sneakers, but where on the redhead they played up his dangerous looks, on the blond it was like wrapping paper on a present. She just wanted to rip into it and see what was underneath.

Apart, they were incredible. Together, they were enough to stun the most jaded of feminine eyes. She had the urge to stamp her name across each of their foreheads before anyone else got a look at them.

Angel and demon, eh?

A brief vision of her between the two of them, light and dark, yin and yang, flashed through her mind.

She squished it before it could go too far and get her in trouble.

Make that double trouble.“Welcome to Guardian Investigations. Can I help you gentlemen?” She nearly sighed in relief at the professional, only slightly breathless tone she managed.

"We're here to see Jordan Grey."

Jordan held back a shiver as the deep voice of the redhead washed over her. He had a slight accent that slurred his es's a little bit. “I'm Jordan Grey."

The two men exchanged a look she couldn't decipher. “See? I told you she'd be perfect."

The blond rolled his eyes and turned back to her. “We need your help.” The blond had the same accent.

Jordan sighed. Damn. Definitely clients.Which meant Demon Boy and Archangel were off-limits.

Double damn.She waved them into her office, glad that the twins were already maneuvering to leave.

“Pleased to meet you. Is there anything my staff can get you before we sit down and discuss your case?"

"Coffee, if you don't mind.” The redhead sauntered in and sat on one of the chairs in front of her desk.

The blond followed, smiling at Jeff, who practically drooled all over him. The blond sat in the other chair and turned that devastating smile on Jamie. “Water, please, thank you."

His double-u sound was a cross between a double-u and a vee, and suddenly she placed the accent.

After all, she heard it every day. She smiled. “Are you two Norwegian?"

They turned and looked at each other, then back at her. “Yes. How did you know?"

She smiled broadly as she sat behind her desk. “My father has the same accent."

"We—” the blond cut off as the redhead elbowed him, hard, “—need your help."

She nearly frowned at the obvious gesture. Blondie had meant to say something else. Something like, We know, perhaps?

"Logan Saeter.” The redhead stood halfway, holding out his hand.

Jordan shook it briefly and turned to the blond, who stood completely. “Kiran Tait.” That devastating smile was still on his lips, warm and inviting. “Call me Kir."

"Pleased to meet you. How can I help you gentlemen?"

They waited until Jamie brought in the coffee and water, shutting the door behind her, before Logan spoke. “We need to prove that Oliver Grimm attempted to murder Kir and frame me for it."

Jordan couldn't keep the shock out of her voice. “Excuse me?"

"He's telling the truth."

Jordan stared at Kir. Kir stared back. He looked like he was willingher to believe Logan. “Oliver Grimm, head of Grimm and Sons?"

Kir nodded. Logan looked amused.

Jordan stood. “I'm sorry, gentlemen, but I don't think I can help you."

Logan snorted. He turned to Kir and grinned. “She thinks she can't help us."

Kir frowned at Logan. “Shush.” He turned back to Jordan and smiled that angel's smile. “We know Grimm is like your grandfather. It's why we wanted to work with you. If we can get you to believe us, perhaps we have a chance of proving it to the rest of the world."

She stared at him like he'd just grown another perfect head on those perfect shoulders. “Are you freakin’ insane?"

He blinked, looking startled as her voice went from cultured smoothness to a rough Philly accent in two seconds flat. Logan snickered, his expression delighted as Jordan lit into them with both barrels.

"He's my grandfather."

"Step-grandfather."

" Doesn't matter!Hello? Conflict of interest here!"

"That's the whole point. If someone with your ethics believes us, and can proveit, we'll be able to see to it that Grimm is punished for what he's done."

She looked back and forth between the two of them, angel and demon, and wondered if they were actually telling the truth. Logan had a smirk on his face, but he still managed to look viciously determined.

Kir looked ... hopeful. Like his fate rested in her hands. Add in that Oliver Grimm was a cold son-of-a-bitch who scared the bejesus out of her, and...

Fuck.Kir blinked, the wistful hope on his face tugging at her heart. Puppy dog eyes. I'm screwed.She was a total sucker, and she knew it. She sighed and sat down. “Tell me your story.” Man, I amso gonna regret this...

Kir grinned. Yes!They'd gotten her to hear them out. Now, if he could curb Logan's natural instinct to yank people's chains, they might get her to agree to help them.

"I have an ... unusual tale to tell. Do you like mythology, Ms. Grey?"

The look on Logan's face was priceless. One brow rose as he turned to Kir with a What the hell are you doing?!?expression. They'd talked strategy in the car on their way over to Jordan's office, and this wasn'twhat they'd discussed.

Fuck it. She'd learn the truth sooner or later. To his mind, it was better to lay their cards on the table before things went too far.

And if that didn't work, there was always Logan's back-up plan. Tying her up and carting her off, whether she liked it or not, held a certain appeal. He tamped down his urge to do just that, explanations be damned.

What is wrong with me?He'd never, in all their long years together, even been attracted to anyone other than Logan, but the small, curvy woman seated behind her desk drew like no other being had since

... well, since Logan.

"Mythology?"

The slow way she drawled it, sitting back in her seat with a blank look, said it all. She had her voice back under control, too, the smooth, anchorman, androgynous accent back in place. Odds were good that, after his story, they'd be falling back on Plan B. He held back a shiver of lust with difficulty, keeping his gaze off Logan. There was nothing he wanted more than Logan's happiness, and it would kill Logan if he saw desire for another person on Kir's face. “Yes, Ms. Grey. Mythology. Norse mythology in particular."

Her gaze darted to Logan and back to him. Those wide, dark brown eyes were carefully blanked. He viewed that with regret. They'd been lovely filled with her laughter. He wondered briefly what they would look like full of passion, or languorous with sated lust. “Okay, I'll bite. What bit of Norse mythology should I become acquainted with?"

"The bit where Loki was directly responsible for the death of Baldur."

"I'm familiar with that myth, yes."

The careful way she was wording her responses wasn't encouraging. “I thought so.” He leaned forward, hands clasped between his knees. “I want you to think about the myth, if you don't mind."

"Okay."

"Baldur was invulnerable to all substances, save mistletoe, which was, at the time, too young a plant to give its word not to harm him. Loki supposedly discovered this, handed the blind god Hodr a dart or arrow tipped in mistletoe, and guided his hand. Baldur died as the mistletoe pierced his heart. Loki fled as the gods killed Hodr for Baldur's death.

"Hel claimed she was willing to release Baldur back into the world if every living being cried, mourning him. But the gods found one holdout, a witch named Pokk, who was supposedly Loki in disguise. Pokk refused to weep. Hel held Baldur in her grasp and refused to let him go. When the gods realized they'd been tricked they returned to the cave, determined to exact revenge. Pokk fled into the back of the cave, turned into a raven, and flew off into the night. Eventually the gods tracked Loki down, tied him to a mountain with the entrails of his own son, there to writhe in torment until Ragnarok.” He turned to Logan.

“Did I miss anything?"

"Nanna's death."

Kir winced. “Right. The goddess Nanna, on hearing of her spouse's death and the failure of the gods to bring him back to life, committed suicide.” And it galled him to say the lie. There was no way Nanna would have killed herself. Grimm had murdered her to protect his secrets, and whatever she'd known had died with her. And going to Hel and trying to speak to the dead was an exercise in futility.

"Right. So, now that our cultural anthropology lesson is done, what does this have to do with my grandfather?"

He ignored Logan, who was shaking his head in disbelief. That sardonic look was back on his face.

From the relaxed way he sat, hands crossed over his stomach, Kir knew his lover was ready for anything. Logan always looked the most relaxed just before he sprang into action. “Have you ever wondered how much truth there was in the old myths?"

She leaned forward in her chair. Her elbow landed on the desk as she rested her chin in her palm. “Not

particularly, no."

"All right. Think like a detective, then."

She smiled. “Yes, that will be sodifficult for me."

Her sarcastic drawl had his eyes narrowing. Damn, she's asking for it.

Part of him wanted to give it to her, too. He eyed Logan sideways, not surprised to see his lover's eyes narrowed on him. He turned his attention back to the woman seated behind the desk and ordered his cock to stand down.

"If you're familiar with Loki then you're familiar with his ability to shift shape, right?"

"Yes."

"Are you familiar with the fact that the onlyform Loki couldn't shift into was a bird?"

She looked thoughtful. “No."

"He had to borrow Frejya's cloak to do it.” He nodded towards her computer. “If you like, I'll wait a moment while you verify that."

She shook her head, frowning. “No, that's okay. I believe you.” It was obvious she had no idea where he was going, or how all of this tied into Grimm.

"So if Loki couldn't turn into a bird without Frejya's cloak, how did he, as Pokk, turn into a raven in the back of the cavern and fly away from the gods?"

She opened her mouth and then closed it, clearly stunned. “I ... don't know."

"And whose bird is the raven?"

"Odin, of course.” She blinked, a frown crossing her face. “Wait. Are you saying Odinframed Loki?"

Kir shrugged. “Odin is a shapeshifter. He's always been associated with lies and trickery."